


Flightless Dragon

by dragoneggos



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, I'm Sorry, M/M, Pining, Scones, Twilight References, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Is Gay for Simon Snow, Watford (Simon Snow), except me i asked for this, no one asked for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:00:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27595850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragoneggos/pseuds/dragoneggos
Summary: "I’m not exactly proud to admit that I spent the entirety of four novels imagining myself as Edward Cullen. And Snow as Bella Swan."Simon Snow thinks he's found the ultimate weapon to defeat his nemesis- a book about Baz! Only trouble is, Penny doesn't think Twilight is an appropriate form of evidence to accuse someone of being a vampire, and Agatha doesn't seem to understand his urgency (neither does he, to be honest).And there's still the mystery of Baz Pitch to work out.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 6
Kudos: 68





	Flightless Dragon

**Author's Note:**

> Literally no one in the fandom asked for this fic, and I kept sitting down to try and write something more serious, but this is all I seemed able to focus on. Lockdown really brought my Twilight obsession back, producing this, it would seem. Sorry again, hope you enjoy it!

**SIMON**

It starts during the Christmas holidays at Agatha’s.

The Wellbeloves are having another one of their famous parties, and while officially I’m welcome to join, I know it allows everyone to breathe easier if I stay upstairs: my magic makes most people feel uncomfortable. Plus, I know they don’t want a repeat of last year’s fiasco. (I blew up the buffet table). (It wasn’t as majestic as you might imagine).

I’m lying on Agatha’s bed, alone, staring at her ceiling and counting the remaining glow in the dark stars, wondering what it would have felt like to grow up with a light in the darkness, and how Agatha could have the heart to remove any of them. I roll over onto my front, but I’m lying diagonally across the large double bed, and the move causes me to spot something, a word I’m so attuned to I couldn’t miss anywhere.

Vampire.

I scramble off of the bed, trying not to make too much noise as my heavy feet hit the ground, not wishing to see any traces of disappointment in Mrs Wellbelove’s face later. I grab the book from where it was peeking out from under Agatha’s bed, and start scanning the blurb. _Twilight_ , it read. It’s a Normal book, I’d heard some third years chattering about it before, but Penny says that most Normal stories have some Magickal backing.

So, it’s at that moment, sprawled across pale pink carpet and encased in a time capsule of my girlfriend, that I start reading the best-selling teen romance novel. Hoping to gain some insight, or something I could use. But really, just to help cure my boredom.

I didn’t expect it to be so useful.

On the car ride back to Watford after Christmas, I find myself making lists in my head about the similarities between Baz and Edward Cullen, to reinforce my vampire knowledge (Penny would say it’s a theory, but Penny doesn’t have to live with him), the book tucked safely into my bag, Agatha none the wiser.

Baz Pitch vs Edward Cullen

  1. The vampires in _Twilight_ don’t eat because they only drink blood. I’ve never seen Baz eat in the dining hall. Though he does have a lot of salt and vinegar crisps in his bedside table. But that could be to ward me off: Edward eats a bit of pizza for Bella.
  2. Baz does seem to sleep (I’ve watched him have nightmares) but he does go to bed late. And he waits for me to fall asleep before he does (in case I attack him I think) (I wouldn’t, because of the Anathema) (I think he knows this).
  3. A difficult one, because Baz definitely looks different to how he did when he was twelve. However, he may have become a vampire after this. Maybe around fifth year????
  4. Baz is definitely faster than his football teammates, from what I’ve observed.
  5. See above. Plus, he lifted me up once in second year (trying to throw me out the window).
  6. Like the Cullens, Baz is annoyingly good looking, in order to draw in his prey. Note- make sure to protect Agatha from this.
  7. Bella describes Edward as smelling amazing, in order to attract humans. Baz does smell pretty amazing for a bloke, though I think that’s his fancy toiletries.
  8. Unless he’s wearing contacts, Baz’s eyes don’t change colour. Just stay the same intriguing shade of grey (could be a vampire thing???).
  9. Enhanced senses. He can tell when I’ve eaten food out of his drawers (can he smell my fear????) (Is that a thing???) (Ask Penny later).



I’m still going over this list when we arrive, so it comes as a shock when I’m confronted with the real Baz outside the school gates. I almost do a double take, which would have been embarrassing, seeing as we are still in the car. Dr Wellbelove looks at me funny in the mirror, but otherwise he says nothing, thank Merlin. I don’t know how I’d explain that behaviour: _oh, I was reading your daughter’s Normal vampire romance novel and comparing it to my roommate, who I think is a vampire by the way._ Yeah, no. Probably not the best idea. I get out the car, and walk round to meet Agatha, and it’s only at that point that I realise I haven’t spoken to her on the whole drive.

When I get up to our room, Baz isn’t there, which surprises me because I know he’s in school. Usually he likes to get up here first to annoy me and rile me up, but he must be down with his mates. Or his minions, as he would call them. Bit weird if you ask me; I swear Dev’s his cousin.

I flop down on my bed and open my bag to get out my (Agatha’s) now well-worn copy of _Twilight_. There’s a couple of things I want to highlight now I know Baz won’t be back for probably a couple of hours, and it wouldn’t hurt to go rooting though his things again (I never know what I’m looking for, but I’ll know it when I see it).

I spend most of the afternoon like this, as I know Penny won’t be back at school until this evening, so I have a lot of time to kill. I lay upside down on my bed, my feet in the air, and the window open, a soft breeze blowing in the chilly January air. I’m so caught up in this, that I nearly jump- for the second time today- when Baz walks in, graceful as ever.

“Didn’t know you knew how to read, Snow,” he sneers walking over to his own desk. I try to scramble up, to obscure what I’m reading, but I forget where my legs are and end up a tangled heap on the floor.

“I wouldn’t have expected _Twilight_ to be your book of choice though, Snow,” he says without looking round, seemingly unimpressed by my collapse onto the floor. To be fair, it is a near daily occurrence.

“I thought with the whole saviour complex, _Harry Potter_ might be more your style. Or perhaps _The Hunger Games_? Though maybe the politics of that book is too close to home. And then again, you’re not much of a chosen one,” he sneers at me.

“Yeah? Well I’m learning more from _Twilight_ than you’d expect,” I reply, folding my arms and trying to act confident. As usual around Baz, it doesn’t work,

“Why, because you too are a pathetic imbecile who spends their whole life following other people around?”

“Bella’s not pathetic?” I cock my head slightly- had we read the same book? Wait… but that means-

“You’ve read it!” I jump up, raising my arm to point at Baz in triumph. He bats my hand away and goes to gather some clothes from his wardrobe.

“Calm down Snow, I have much better things to do with my time than read _Twilight_. Crowley, it’s the biggest book of the decade, you pick up some knowledge.” He slams the bathroom door in my face, and I slump back down with my book again.

**BAZ**

I totally have read _Twilight_.

Fiona bought the set for me, as a joke I think, the Christmas during fifth year. I was still fairly new to the vampire thing, and pent up after four months of Snow being constantly on my back, and I spent the holidays completely devouring them, just to keep my mind on something else.

Not that it succeeded. I’m not exactly proud to admit that I spent the entirety of four novels imagining myself as Edward Cullen. And Snow as Bella Swan.

The books gave me a lot to think about myself too, and though they may just be Normal teenage fiction, Bella’s convictions about Edward’s soul and benevolence made me feel slightly more convicted of my own. Over that holiday anyway. (And when I watched the films, all in one go, tear tracks staining my face by the end of it all the following summer).

Which is why I was so shocked to see Snow holding a copy, like he owned it (which I guess he does). Still, not exactly the kind of content I expect to see Simon Snow, the Chosen One to be poring over on a January afternoon. If I were him, I’d say he were plotting something.

I slump against the bathroom door, -the shower I was going to take long forgotten- and wallow in self-pity yet again at the hopeless direction my life has taken.

**PENELOPE**

It surprises me that I reach the dining hall before Simon, as this is an uncommon occurrence, unheard of on a first day back. I’m less surprised that I’m here before Agatha- she rarely joins us for the whole of dinner anymore.

I’ve just started eating, when Simon practically bursts into the room, an explosion (not literally this time, thank magic) of smoke and excitement. A few heads turn, and a couple of first years cover their noses, but that’s the usual reaction to Simon.

“Penny! I found it!” he’s calling to me, before he’s even reached our table.

“Found what, Si-” my breath is knocked out of me and I nearly fall straight onto the floor, right here, in the middle of the dining hall, as Simon slams straight into me, his spotted arms wrapping round my waist.

“Merlin and Morgana Simon, it’s been three weeks!” I gasp when I’m finally released.

“I know,” he looks down, suddenly self-conscious of the spectacle he’s made, “I just- missed you, that’s all.” I sigh, and my face melts into sympathy.

“I missed you too Si, you know I’d whisk you over in a heartbeat if my mum would let it,” I say, sitting back down again, as he joins across from me.

“Yeah, I know. It’s fine, anyway. Agatha’s parents are great to me.” He doesn’t look so convinced. I swear, every year I curse my mother and her misplaced dislike for my best friend.

“What is it you wanted to tell me, anyway?” I ask, changing the subject, before he’ll inevitably shove twenty scones in his mouth and it will become impossible to hold a conversation.

“Oh, right!” he snatches his hand away from the scone he was halfway to grabbing (the first time I think I’ve ever seen him turn away from food, this must be serious) and leans down into his bag and pulls something out.

“You’ll never guess what I found at Agatha’s.” _Not_ a promising start. Every year Simon spends Christmas with the Wellbeloves, which is better than the alternative of him staying here alone, but every year he comes back with a new disaster. Last year he set fire to the buffet table; it was a mess, and people didn’t stop whispering about it for weeks. The Christmas during fifth year, he spent the entire time talking Agatha’s ear off about what Baz was plotting (he wouldn’t call it a disaster, but Agatha said she almost used a silencing spell on him, which is a big threat for her). But then I see what he’s holding, and it’s… a book?

“It’s a book about Baz!” he thrusts it in my face, a winning grin plastered across his face. And then I see what it is.

“It’s… _Twilight_?” I can’t be seeing this right.

“I found it Penny, the answers. The answers about Baz. You have to read it, have you heard of it? It’s amazing Penny, it taught me so much,” he’s babbling, but I’m still dumbstruck.

“It’s- it’s _Twilight_.” I’m good at explaining things to Simon, usually, but I think this might be the one that tips me over the edge.

“Uh huh,” he’s not getting it, “Look, Penny, I highlighted some of the important parts, I thought we could go over the evidence together. Are you proud of me? Have you read it? Because if not I think you should, this might be the evidence we need to finally take Baz down.” Does he know what he’s saying? He’s not even looking at me anymore, just flicking through the pages of that God forsaken book.

“Um. No, I haven’t read it,” he looks forlorn, until his eyes perk up and I know what he’s going to suggest, so I quickly interrupt before he can, “but I’ve seen the film,” I admit with a sigh, defeated. My mum made me and Priya watch it with her one afternoon in the summer, as some kind of bonding activity. It was, naturally, awful.

“There’s a _film_?” He almost drops the book to the ground in his surprise. How has he gone this long without being swept into at least _some_ of the _Twilight_ hype? I ignore his question, and move onto the matter at hand,

“How, exactly, do you think this explains Baz?”

“Think about it Penny. He’s impossibly strong, and fast. Sometimes he speaks, like, like he’s from a different time. He’s my roommate, but I’ve never seen him eat or drink much and he hates having the curtains open. He’s exactly like Edward Cullen!” he almost shouts this, and I have to shush him, as a group of nosy second years edge closer to our conversation.

“Simon, do you hear yourself? You’re describing a good football player with good vocabulary, who doesn’t inhale his food, and doesn’t like the sun waking him up in the morning. I’ve never denied your vampire theory, but this isn’t proof, this is a trashy Normal teenage romance novel,” I clarify, firmly. He’s determined not to give this up though.

“But, what about his appearance, Penny! He’s clearly trying to lure in Agatha- Bella,” he waves his hands around as if trying to illustrate something. I almost cast **See what I mean** but I don’t particularly want the whole dining hall to hear this conversation. _I_ don’t particularly want to hear this conversation.

“What does that make you then?”

“I’m not sure yet. Maybe Mike Newton? Or that Jacob Black character, except I run off with Bella at the prom.”

“So, you’re Team Jacob?” I’m almost laughing at the ridiculousness of this conversation.

“There are teams? There’s barely any contest!” he doesn’t seem to see the irony in his comparisons.

“Simon,” I start seriously, “there are three other books.”

“ _Three_?”

“And five films,” I shake my head, sure I’ve won this argument.

“Well,” he starts, and I (stupidly) expect him to abandon this ridiculous project, and move on to the defeat of the humdrum, or whatever mission the Mage has set for him this time, “I guess I’ll have to watch them.” And though he finally takes a bite out of a scone (more like inhaled half of it), I know this conversation is far from over.

**SIMON**

It took me three days- _three days_ \- for me to convince Agatha to let me borrow her illegal phone and Netflix account.

“Please, Aggie, it will only be for a night,” I’d whined, “and I promise I won’t let Baz catch me!”

“Yes, because your track record of avoiding Basil has proved _so_ good up until now,” she’d replied, rolling her eyes, “what’s so important that you have to watch it _right this second_ anyway?”

“Oh- um, I,” I’d racked my brains for something normal (not Normal, though that would probably help), something ‘manly’ I should want to watch, “Oh, there’s this- film, I want to watch um, that Miss Possibelf recommended” think, think, think, “ _Schindler’s List_.” Where the fuck did that come from?

“You want to watch _Schindler’s List_?” Agatha raised her eyebrows at me, in disbelief.

“Uh, yeah. I heard it’s really…” I don’t know a fucking thing about it, “good,” I finish lamely.

“Simon, what’s _Schindler’s List_ about?”

“It’s, about, a war?” she seemed surprised at that one so I got lucky, I guess, “and a list. Lots of lists.” I’d nodded in fake certainty, and she’d given me a long, withering look, clearly weighing up her options, before responding,

“Okay. Fine. You can borrow my phone and my Netflix account to watch _Schindler’s List_. I want to hear all about it when you’re done, it’s a tragic film.” She handed me her phone, with a final instruction- _do not break it_ \- and turned swiftly away from me.

It was well worth it though.

**BAZ**

_I was a quick wet boy_

_Diving too deep for coins_

_All of your straight light eyes_

_Wide on my plastic toys_

_Then when the cops closed the fair_

_I cut my long baby hair_

_Stole me a dog eared map_

_And called for you everywhere_

_Have I found you?_

_Flightless bird, jealous, weeping_

_Or lost you?_

_American mouth_

_Big bill looming_

I almost die, right there and then, in the doorway of our room, when I hear Snow playing that fucking song. From what I can see from my frozen position in the doorway, he’s holding a contraband phone, and my first, horrific thought is that he’s somehow found mine from where it’s hidden in the back of my wardrobe (the one place Snow never invaded, thank magic), broken into it, and is playing my Spotify playlist. My love letter to Simon Snow.

It takes me a lot longer than I’d like to admit before I realise the impossibility of that, and that while the music is playing from tinny phone speakers, he’s also watching the tiny screen. Merlin knows how he can watch anything on there, but somehow, he’s _crying_?

“Do I need to report you to your precious Mage?” I sneer, a slight tremble in my voice that I pray he won’t notice. Something about Simon Snow crying over _Twilight_ inches away from my bed is all too similar to my fantasies for me: its unnerving. He sniffs, wiping his nose with his sleeve ( _honestly_ ) before attempting to form a cohesive response,

“Baz! Shit, is it that late already? Fuck, Baz please don’t tell anyone, Agatha will kill me.” Ah, so that explains the phone then. Should have known it wasn’t orphan boy Snow’s, and Bunce knows better than to lend anything of value to Snow. If my eyes don’t deceive me, I think he’s smeared butter all over Wellbelove’s screen. I almost feel sorry for the girl. Almost.

I roll my eyes and raise an eyebrow for good measure, too pent up to speak, hoping that it just reinforces my air of mystery around Snow, rather than exposing my true emotions. It works though, because his face turns a brighter red, and he shoves the phone under his pillow, the music abruptly cutting out into silence. (It’s a shame really, I like 15 Step).

I spend even longer in the shower than usual, hoping for the scalding hot water to calm me down, the secret longing for it to heat up my icy skin and heal me forever still ever present. When I finally return to our room, preparing to go to bed, Snow speaks up from where he’s sitting crossed legged on his bed, hair mussed, eyes still puffy from crying.

“Please don’t tell anyone Baz,” is all he says, and my heart breaks. Doesn’t he see that I will do anything for him?

“Don’t work yourself up Snow, Crowley, you’ll set the room on fire again. I have better things to be doing than sucking up to the Mage,” I sneer again in disgust for good measure, though this time it’s more an involuntary reaction.

I get into bed, preparing for the room to be encompassed in darkness as I spend the night pretending to be ignoring Snow, but before I can turn the lamp off, he speaks up again,

“Baz?”

“It’s literally just me here Snow, you don’t need to address me every time.”

“Right, sorry,” he lapses into a silence that stretches so long I begin to think that’s all he’s going to say, before he cuts in again,

“What do you know about _Schindler’s List_?” Okay. I don’t know what I expected ( _Basil, you are my life now_ ) but it wasn’t that.

“Merlin and Morgana Snow, what?”

“You’re clever! I thought you’d have seen it!”

“I’m going to bed.”

“But-”

“Ask Bunce. I do not have the time for this.” I hear him mumble something else under his breath, something about Penny not understanding, but I’m too caught up in the enigma he poses. Simon Snow thinks I hold all the world’s secrets, but he’s a constant surprise, bursting with honesty.

**PENELOPE**

I don’t know what to expect when Agatha comes bursting into the library, making a beeline towards me; it’s not as if she’s been particularly amiable towards us the last couple of months. She very quickly reaches my table, which is flooded with open textbooks from corner to corner, shoving them neatly out of the way to slam her hands delicately onto the surface.

“ _Twilight_?” is all she says, but it’s all she needs to say.

“I mean, to be fair, he borrowed it from your house,” I reply, nonplussed, attempting to move one of my books from out under her iron arm. For such a dainty girl, she has a powerful strength like you wouldn’t know.

“He’s read it as well?” she finally relaxes her grip and collapses into the seat opposite me, and I sigh, giving up on my Latin homework. If it wasn’t for that damn pixie, I’d revise in my room. Simon thinks he has it bad.

“Did you lend him your Netflix?” I ask, already catching on.

“I was curious Penny! He said he was going to watch _Schindler’s List_ , and I had to know what was so important he’d pull out his, frankly offensive, lying ability.” That was a new one- perhaps we were in deeper than I realised.

“Wondered where my copy had gone,” I distantly hear Agatha mutter, as the cogs begin to turn in my head, “…never even finished it.”

“Don’t you think the whole Baz obsession has gone a bit far?” I interrupt, testing the waters and fiddling nervously with my pen, in a way I hope looks absentminded. She looks up at that, her bright eyes sparkling under the low lights of the library, before responding,

“I mean, it’s nothing new is it? It’s not like I’ve ever really been on Simon’s mind.” Of course, she’d be thinking about herself, just as the pieces begin to come together. I knew there was something I was missing from the _Twilight_ metaphor.

“Maybe you should ask him about it,” I pretend to be studying my notes, but in reality, I’m dying to catch her expression.

“Me? Why me? He’s much more likely to open up to you,” there’s a sting of rejection and a flicker of abandonment present in her words, and I’m reminded of my sympathy for her, for the way Simon’s been treating her.

“Because you’re his girlfriend? Trust me, he’d tell you before he’d tell me.” _Because it’s the only way to know for sure, the only way to know what I think we both already know._

She gives me a long look, her perfectly shaped eyebrows scrunched together, as if trying to figure me out. Merlin, maybe we are just the Scooby Doo Gang.

“Fine,” she concedes, before promptly turning to saunter away, her halo of hair swaying gently across her shoulders.

**SIMON**

I’m sitting at the windowsill in our room, breathing in the crisp, damp air from the open window and enjoying the empty room, when I see it. It’s irritating, because I was just getting comfortable, brooding like Bella Swan does when Edward stops turning up at school. But it can’t go unnoticed. It’s Baz, walking swiftly towards the Wavering Woods, wand in hand, looking dangerously threatening.

I sigh, swinging my legs off the windowsill, knowing it’s my duty to stop him, stop him killing an innocent third year, or whatever it is he does all day (though Edward Cullen _is_ a vegetarian, if we continue with that metaphor). I quickly shrug on my grey jacket, and rush out the door, remembering to grab my wand from my desk at the last second.

I’m practically falling down the stairs in my haste, a strange kind of rhythm to my madness, so I don’t notice Agatha standing at the bottom, until I’m standing eye to eye with her, her expression a nervous mask of shock.

“Oh- Simon, we need to talk.”

“Look, can it wait? I just saw Baz and I need to make sure-”

“Can’t you just focus on us, for once?” she shouts at me, and I take a step back in response.

“I know things haven’t been… great between us recently, but you don’t understand, you don’t know what he’s capable of.”

“Let it go, Simon.” I don’t understand. Does she _want_ me to let Baz go around slaughtering babies?

“Agatha, you don’t understand, he’s my roommate, he’s a vampire I-. I can’t just let him go,” I whisper, trying desperately to make her see the gravity of the situation, the urgency I feel.

“No. Let us go.”

“What?”

“It’s him or me, Simon.” She’s the one that’s whispering now, “and I already know the answer. So, go. Go follow Edward Cullen into the woods. We were never right anyway.” She wraps her arms around herself, her eyes piercing into my soul, carrying a significance I don’t yet understand. And how does she know about my _Twilight_ metaphor?

“Aggie, I-”

“Go.” And there’s a finality there, one that doesn’t cause the ache in my chest that I expect it to, as I realise I’ve been expecting this, that it isn’t a surprise.

I take one last, short look at Agatha, my girlfriend, my happy ending, and go barrelling into the woods after Baz Pitch.

**BAZ**

I really wish I did have a dark, secret reason for going into the Wavering Woods just as the sun begins its descent. I don’t. I just want a break.

It’s the only place at Watford no one will follow me (even Snow kept his distance in here during his fifth-year phase) and the best place to see the stars, despite the trees. I come here and think of my mother, in a slightly less depressing way than what the catacombs offer.

So, it’s safe to say I’m less than pleased to see Simon Snow come marching up towards me, sword in his hand, gearing for a fight. I’m not even standing up (I’m slumped on a log, it’s embarrassing, frankly) but apparently, I pose some great danger to the world, a great danger to magick. I sigh wearily, and push myself up, ready to face him, ready to fight if needs be (I could never hurt him, not really. I’d never let myself win, and I’d die a perpetual disappointment to my family, continuing my life’s legacy even in death).

“Following me into the woods now Snow? Finally gotten over that fifth-year fear? Afraid I’m going to slaughter some children?” His face looks oddly surprised at that, and I guess that I somehow echoed his own ridiculous thoughts. His sword is shaking slightly in his hands, and I can smell the adrenaline rising off him in waves, his hands sweaty on their iron grip round the hilt.

“I know what you are.” Crowley, really? It’s like my own fifth year fantasies come alive. We’re really doing this? Here, on this misty Friday night in January? I might as well play my part, no point pretending I haven’t seen that God forsaken film now, not when he’s certainly going to kill me either way.

“Say it. Out loud. Say it.” I’m almost enjoying it (it’s sick, I know). I’ve always identified with the darkness of Edward Cullen, especially Robert Pattinson’s version. And the drama of it all is strangely cathartic.

“Vampire.” I know my next line. But I know his answer won’t be right. I know that this is where our story ends, right where Bella and Edward’s began.

“Are you afraid?” I enjoy the menacing tone I’m able to conjure up despite the fact my world’s coming down around me. There’s a pause, where his reply should be, and I prepare myself for the blow, closing my eyes in anticipation. Do it, Simon Snow. I was always destined to die at your hand.

“No.” There’s a quiver to his voice, a sense of surprise and uncertainty that’s nothing like the film. And then I realise the gravity of what he’s said. I open my eyes in shock, the flame I had conjured up in my hand as a last measly defence against my own fate, falling to the ground all too quickly. I study his face, and his sword clatters to the ground a half a second later. I wonder, briefly, where this leaves us, what happens now.

And then the forest is on fire.

My first thought is to let it engulf me, it surrounds me, and my instinct is to let it, to let it relieve me of this, of whatever this is and whatever is to come. I memorise Snow’s face, lit up like shining gold in the light of the flames, and let my eyes close again.

But then I hear his voice.

“Baz!” It’s getting closer, and I realise that the idiot is about to run through fire to get to me. I don’t have time to consider the meaning of that, because _I can’t let him die_. Maybe I’m already dead, maybe I have no soul, like Edward Cullen believes. But Simon is the epitome of alive. Without him, the world has no soul.

“ **Make a wish!** ” And as quickly as it started, it’s over. A quiet settles over us, like a constricting blanket, and Snow’s much closer than I’d realised.

“Baz… why didn’t you…” his words trail off, and his boring blue eyes are striking in the darkness. They bore into my soulless body.

And then _he_ kisses _me_.

**SIMON**

It’s hot, everything is hot, but Baz’s mouth is cool, the antidote to everything I hate about myself.

I don’t know what I’m doing, and neither does Baz, I don’t think. He’s kissing me back though, and that’s all that matters, all I can focus on. It’s messy (like us) but it’s a lifeline, it’s something strong, something certain.

I pull away, for a second, to catch my breath, to stare into the grey abysses of his eyes until I can hear his thoughts clearly.

But before I can, the running and the smoke and the adrenaline and the lack of air suddenly catch up to me, and I feel the world spinning. I grab onto Baz’s arm, determined not to lose my one solid thing, as I feel myself drift momentarily into oblivion.

When I wake up again, I’m in our room in Mummer’s Tower. I’m slumped against the headboard of my bed, and I drowsily attempt to push myself up with my elbow to find Baz. I may have lost time, but he’s still the only thing on my mind.

“Of course, you decide to wake up _after_ I’ve already dragged you up those stairs. I had to coat you with spells to even get you halfway up,” he’s rolling his eyes from across the room, where he’s leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Bastard. I bet he’s been in that pose the whole time, waiting for me to wake up so he can look cool and collected and _dramatic_ whilst my head floods with thoughts (mostly about Baz) that I still haven’t had a chance to process.

“It was kind of romantic though, wasn’t it?” I admit, sitting up and meeting his gaze properly. Despite his calm demeaner, he’s shitting it.

“Was it, Snow? I was under the impression you were rather delusional from all the smoke.” He’s giving me a way out, an excuse, a choice. But I’m done with making stupid choices. And his grey pools of anxiety tell me he feels the same.

“It was dead romantic. Just like in that bloody book.” His expression shifts, and something else, something foreign begins to explore his face, slowly, cautiously. And I know I have to do something, now, to keep it there, to savour it. I want to be the one to make Baz Pitch’s face change (that sounds weird, but you get it).

So that’s what I do. I launch myself off the bed (and almost fall flat on my face twice in the process- still haven’t quite regained my balance after fainting it would seem) and across the room to him. I finally reach him, where he’s waiting for me, looking slightly dumbstruck (if our first kiss was like that, did he not expect me to want more?). I’m never going to get my fill of Baz Pitch, and I’m pissed I wasted so much time, when we could have been doing this. I take him by the back of his neck and kiss him like my life depends on it. He kisses me back (of course he does, I knew he wanted this as much as me). And I melt, I melt into Baz, into these things I didn’t know I even felt, into the abyss of Basilton, into _Twilight_ , into reality and into everything in between. Into my roommate, the vampire, the boy, my solid ground, my certainty. _Mine_.

I never want to let him go again. It feels ridiculous that I didn’t figure this out sooner, ridiculous that Penny didn’t figure this out sooner (she’s gonna be pissed when I tell her). It’s still late, and we should have gone to sleep hours ago, but instead I’m lying in my bed, Baz’s cool arms wrapped solidly around me, creating the perfect temperature combined with my own fiery hot skin

“Baz?” I whisper. We haven’t said much, not much of value. Neither of us wants to screw this up.

“Still just me here Snow.” I ignore his jab; it’s easier now, since I know what he really wants (it’s me, it’s always been me).

“Are you really a vampire then?” I don’t need to see his face to know that he’s rolling his eyes in the silence, which I decide to take as a yes.

“Like in _Twilight_? Do you drink deer and run fast and never sleep?”

“Merlin, Snow do you know me at all? Did you learn nothing whatsoever in fifth year? Yes, I’m a vampire. No, not like in _Twilight_. Yes, I have drunk deer- I suppose one similarity to your beloved Edward Cullen is I too wouldn’t ever hurt a human,” he says that last bit with such sincerity, I squeeze his arm, wondering how much damage my years of accusations has really done, “I run faster than the other football players, but I wouldn’t say it was super human, and I’m not even going to bother answering the last question there Snow, you’ve seen me sleep for seven years.”

“I thought you were the one watching me sleep,” I mutter, but I know he hears me, his arms tightening around me slightly in response. I don’t know why I’m not more bothered by the idea of Baz as a vampire. I guess it is like Bella said: it doesn’t matter.

“Wait,” I suddenly realise what this means, “You _have_ read _Twilight_ then?” He groans and pushes his face into my hair in defeat, as I sit there laughing at the image of Baz, a real-life vampire, reading a Normal teenage romance book about fictional vampires. Though I guess that’s not much different from what I did.

“Baz?” I whisper again after we’d lapsed once again into comfortable silence. He doesn’t respond, which I take as a protest to me addressing him by name again.

“Do you still have your illegal phone?” He jerks up a bit at that, and I don’t know why he’s so surprised.

“You know about that?”

“I spent the whole of fifth year stalking you, and you don’t think I know about your phone? Bloody hell Baz, we share a room!” (I did find it, in the back of his wardrobe in fourth year. I never touched it though- even vampires deserve some boundaries). He doesn’t reply for a few minutes, and I assume he’s trying to ignore me again, when he suddenly speaks up,

“What did you have in mind, Snow?”

And that’s how we end up squished together in my tiny single bed, Baz’s illegal _laptop_ (“How did you even sneak that in?” “It’s amazing what the right spellwork can do for you Snow, you should try it sometime”) propped up on our tangled legs, _New Moon_ the only thing lighting up the room, Baz’s steady breaths on my neck keeping me grounded.

**BAZ**

Light is just beginning to stream through the cracks in the window, pooling onto Snow’s face and lightly touching his bronze curls, when we get to the end of the last film. Breaking Dawn- ironically perfect.

He’s crying, curled up in my arms, eyes heavy with emotion and sleep. Merlin and Morgana, I don’t know how I got here. How I got so lucky.

I’m playing with his curls absentmindedly, listening to ‘A Thousand Years’ play, as images of the characters flash up on the screen, when I suddenly remember something. It’s a spell, something stupid I made up in sixth year, just as something to occupy my time with. Snow looks at me questioningly when I pull out my wand, his tear stained face almost breaking my heart, even when I know the innocent cause. I wonder, briefly, if he’s going to object to me casting around him, but I think an all-night _Twilight_ marathon does something to a relationship, because he simply watches in anticipation, eyes widening. For someone bursting with magic, someone practically sewed up to the seams with it, it’s easy to forget how much Simon Snow loves watching other people cast.

“ **I have died everyday, waiting for you**.” It’s a pointless spell, really. A useless thing I made when I was desperately pining over Snow (I still am) and needed something, anything to remind me of him. I never worked out if it only works because I’m half dead, but either way, flashes, images of us, of Simon and me, over our years of Watford are flashing up in front of us. Our first-year fights, our second-year avoidances, Snow’s stalking, my pining- all there, lined up for us to see. Snow’s mouth falls open as he watches, until it gradually fades away, lingering on the final image of us yesterday, arguing over having the window open. He turns to face me, a face full of wonder and awe, and whispers,

“That’s a spell?”

“I suppose, yes. I mean, I made it. At the beginning of sixth year. For us.” I’m stumbling over my words, and I hate how clumsy and vulnerable I sound, but I need him to know, need him to know how much he means to be, how much I love him. And if I can’t tell him, Merlin, I’ve shown him (I sound like Snow now, someone needs to tell me to “Use my words”).

“Baz you- you made a spell?”

“ _We_ made a spell, Simon. We did.” And despite the fact it’s so, so late (or early, I suppose) and we’ve both been sat here crying for hours at the _Twilight Saga_ , he takes me by the neck again and kisses me, with a force so powerful I can feel his magic light me up inside, murmuring,

“You called me Simon,” all over my skin.

**SEVEN YEARS LATER**

_Have I found you?_

_Flightless bird, brown hair bleeding_

_Or lost you?_

_American mouth_

_Big bill, stuck going down_

I have one arm wrapped tightly around Snow’s waist, with my other gripping his hand like it’s a lifeline. His tail wraps easily around my wrist, like it belongs there (it does, every part of Snow belongs with me- I’m disgustingly possessive).

“Just like we practiced, Snow,” I whisper, as the music starts to play, and everyone gathers to watch us.

“It’s Simon today,” he mutters back, starting the perfectly rehearsed dance with me, very obviously following my lead. His wings have been magicked away (thank magic- Snow’s dancing ability left something to be desired even without the extra appendages) by some new spell of Bunce’s, and just like that- we’re dancing. I spot Bunce by the bar, bawling her eyes out (it’s unsettling) as she has been the entire day, clinging to Shepard, who is gently rubbing her arm, his eyes fixed on Snow and me (she was a mess when she found out- shouting about how right this was and how frustrated she was for not seeing it sooner). I know we look stunning- we’re more good-looking than any couple has a right to be- and the fairy lights hung above us in the forest lights us up perfectly, just as they were designed to. And Simon Snow looks stunning in a grey suit.

My new spell is displayed above us- “ **I have loved you for a thousand years** ”- playing its own selection of images and moments from our relationship. From that first night watching the _Twilight_ films together, to the final fight with the Humdrum, to America, to the proposal and to everything in between. Like us, it’s beautiful.

“Don’t cry on me Pitch,” he grins up at me, and I realise I was probably displaying more emotion than I likely meant to. Fuck it. If I ever did have a right to cry in front of a crowd, it’s today.

“It’s Snow-Pitch today,” I echo him in his ear, and he grins even wider, blinding me with his sunlight.

“It’s Snow-Pitch forever,” he murmurs back, the cheesy sod.

“Forever and ever.” And we’re met with brilliant applause as our flawless first dance comes to an end, but a life of firsts just begins.


End file.
